Fellowship of the DigiRing
by DigimonDragongirl
Summary: A Digimon adaptation of the movie.


The Lord of the Rings:

The Fellowship of the digi-Ring

By Shelli-Jo Pelletier

(ussfantasy@hotmail.com)

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Disclaimer: This idea came to me after Rae (fern_the_flash3@hotmail.com) drew some cool fanarts for me of Cunomon in Gajinka form, dressed in the style of the characters from Lord of the Rings. After seeing the movie myself, I couldn't resist writing a Digimon adaptation. ^_^ Of course, the credit for the original novel goes to the one and only J.R.R. Tolkien, and the rights of the movie version belong to director/writer/producer Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I'm just a humble fan of all things fantasy and dragon-y! Don't sue!

PS: This is my adaptation, so no e-mailing me to tell how wrong I got it. I made some changes to fit the Digimon characters, left some stuff out so the fic wouldn't be too long, etc. However, it's still rated PG-13, just like the movie, because of descriptive battle scenes and death.

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Cast of Characters:

THE FELLOWSHIP:

Frodo Baggins – Cunomon (ussfantasy@hotmail.com)

Samwise "Sam" Gamgee – Veemon

Meriadoc "Merry" Brandybuck – Diratimon (coolestmew@everestkc.net)

Peregrin "Pippin" Took – Yazumon (hyperjerk@ync.net)

Gandalf the Grey – Wizardmon

Aragorn "Strider" – Kazudamon (cowgirl_em@hotmail.com)

Legolas – Foxermon (kossmoe_chan@hotmail.com)

Gimli – Nerimon (alex@intouchltd.net)

Boromir – Diamon (squall2k184@yahoo.com)

OTHERS:

Bilbo Baggins – Sutaaryumon (ussfantasy@hotmail.com)

Rosie – Sulcromon (mad4matt2000@yahoo.co.uk)

Sauron – Apocalymon

Elendil – Imperialdramon

Isildur – WarGreymon

Saruman – Angemon

Arwen – Foximon (foximon@inreach.com)

Elrond – PepperFoxstermon (kossmoe_chan@hotmail.com)

Gollum – Divermon

Balrog – Daemon

Galadriel – Huntermon (cowgirl_em@hotmail.com)

Lurtz – Duodramon (ussfantasy@hotmail.com)

CREATURES:

Hobbits – Digi-Dragons

Elves – Digi-Foxes

Dwarves – Digi-Saurs

Men – Digi-Men (assorted Digimon types)

Ringwraiths "Black Riders" – Phantomon

The Cave Troll – Ogremon

Orcs – Goblimon

Uruk-Hai – Satoodmon (ussfantasy@hotmail.com)

***************

It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm and clear, which was fortunate for the plans Sutaaryumon had that night. Cunomon sighed and turned another page in the journal of an old Digi-Dragon he had found. Boring, boring, boring. On such a nice day there was tons of more exciting things he'd rather be doing! But there was a certain someone he was waiting for, and if he would just _show up_ it would make all the tedious boredom worth it.

The faint sound of wheels and horse's hooves on the path below caused Cunomon's head to shoot up, bouncing his head of golden curls. A wide grin spread over his face and he dropped the journal, scrambling to his feet. The young Digi-Dragon pressed his back against the tree he had been nestled against, waiting for the sounds to come abreast his hiding place. When he judged the time was right he spun around and faced the rode. "You're late," he announced with mock-severity.

The expression of the man in the cart's seat was unreadable, since it was hidden by the high collar of his blue cloak. A pair of bright green eyes was the only thing one could see of his face, peering out from under the wide brim of a pointed blue hat. The green orbs held his gaze evenly.

"Wizards are never late," the man in the cart said solemnly. "And we are never early. We arrive exactly when we mean to."

Cunomon couldn't help it any more. He broke into a wide grin and leapt from the rise beside the road into the cart, hugging his old friend. "Wizardmon!" he exclaimed happily.

"Good to see you too, Cunomon," the old wizard chuckled. "It has been a while."

"Yes, much too long. Tell me about what's been going on in the world! We don't get much news here in the Shire, you know." Cunomon gazed about his home with fondness, but also a little wistfully. The dirt road they traveled wound through the Digi-Dragons' homeland, between low houses built halfway into the ground and fields of grains rippling in the sunlight and rolling green hills. Many Digi-Dragons were out and about, doing chores or just enjoying the sun. They dotted the rich green landscape with all shades of blue.

"I'm afraid I've given you and Sutaaryumon a bit of a bad reputation," Wizardmon remarked causally, as they passed by a home with an old woman doing laundry. She scowled mistrustfully as they went by.

Cunomon grinned, not bothered in the least. "Well, ever since you sent Sutaa on that quest sixty years ago we've been known for liking adventure a little too much. Not acceptable for a Digi-Dragon, you know. And you, my friend, have been labeled a disturbance to society!"

"Have I now? Hmm." Wizardmon gazed off contemplatively as the horse-drawn cart plodded on. Cunomon could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. "All I did is give him a little push out the door, that's all."

The Digi-Dragon laughed. It was a little more than that, he had been told. "Whatever you did, I certainly don't regret it. I think I would have gone out of my mind with boredom without Sutaa's stories of all his wild adventures. And since he's not wanting too many visitors at the moment, I'll get off here. See you soon, Wizardmon!"

"You too," the cloaked wizard called as Cunomon leaped down from the cart. The horse continued on, soon coming to a nice Digi-Dragon home called Mon End. Wizardmon pulled the reins as he read the sign hung on the fence gate.

"No admittance except for party business."

He chuckled as he climbed down, plucking up his staff as he went. And when he opened the gate and knocked on the door it was an old familiar voice that answered. "Go away, if you please! I'm not seeing anyone else today!"

"Not even an old friend?" Wizardmon asked innocently.

All at once the round green door was flung open, and there stood Sutaaryumon. Like all Digi-Dragons he stood only a head higher than Wizardmon's waist, with curly hair and bare feet with thick talons and blue skin. Sutaa's was faded gray-blue, his mop of hair pale lavender. A thin moustache trailed down either side of his smiling mouth.

The old Digi-Dragon embraced the wizard affectionately, ushering him into the house and firmly closing the door. "Can't get a moment's peace around here!" he told Wizardmon. "You'd think the Shire had never been the location of a birthday party before!"

"Perhaps not such a grand one, hmm?" Wizardmon gazed at the door with meaning.

Sutaa's pale yellow eyes followed his gaze, uncomprehending, until the meaning struck him. "Oh! You mean your fireworks. Yes, well, being friends with a wizard does have some advantages."

"Indeed," Wizardmon agreed with a gracious nod.

The two old companions sat down with tea, soon chatting about this and that and what they had missed since last time in each other's company. Wizardmon, while being careful not to disturb anything in the house sized for such a smaller person, was quick to notice most of Sutaa's belongings were in the process of being packed up and put away. The light chitchat eventually faded, and Wizardmon's expression became more serious. "So, you are going through with it then?" he ventured softly.

Sutaa didn't answer right away, but gazed into his teacup as if the answer lay within. Finally he gave a little sigh. "Yes, yes I am. You mentioned before that I do not look it, but I can feel my age catching up with me. One hundred eleven is old, Wizardmon. Even for a Digi-Dragon. I need a holiday . . . and I don't think I'm coming back." He finally met the wizard's eyes.

Wizardmon thought for a while in silence. "You will tell Cunomon before you vanish away, won't you? The boy looks up to you."

Sutaa nodded vaguely, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. "Yes," he murmured. The taller man noticed with interest that the Digi-Dragon's hand had strayed into his pocket, and he seemed to be clutching something. "Yes. . . ."

* * *

That night the wide open fields around Mon End were alive with light and color and sound. It seemed as if the entire Shire had attended Sutaa's eleventy-first birthday party. There were big canopies strung over long tables, decorated with every food imaginable. In the sky explosions constantly lit up the blackness with bright colors and concussions. Below a band played a lively dance tune and the surrounding area was covered with whirling, lively figures.

Cunomon leaped down from a tabletop and collapsed onto the bench next to a hunched figure, who was buried in a cup of ale. Cunomon nudged the figure with his elbow. "Why aren't you enjoying yourself, Veemon?" he asked. He peered over his shoulder and grinned at the sight of a girl with blue-gray skin and red hair, dancing alone. "Go ask Sulcromon to dance," he told Sutaa's employee (Veemon tended the old Digi-Dragons's gardens).

The blue-haired youth blushed and stood up, edging away. "Er, no thanks, Cunomon. I think I'll just go get another ale—"

"Oh no you don't," laughed the blond, grabbing Veemon's shoulders and spinning him around. With a shove Veemon was caught in Sully's arms and twirling away into the crowd of dancers.

On another field Wizardmon's cart was resting beside a tent of dirty dishes. Wizardmon himself was off entertaining a crowd of Digi-Dragon children, making fire fly from the end of his staff.

A small figure crouched beside the back of the old man's cart, peering this way and that with shrewd green eyes. After a moment he poked the tent's walls. "Yazumon, get out here!" he hissed.

The canvas wall rippled, and then a head topped with curly gray hair peeked out. His green-eyed companion grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the tent, boosting him into the back of the cart.

Yazumon scrambled around in the long tubes and sticks, searching with his deep red eyes. He grabbed one and held it up.

"No, no!" the other hissed. "The big one!"

Yazumon's eyes fell on one of the fireworks, bigger and thicker than the others, in the shape of a fearsome Birdramon. He snatched it and jumped down from the cart. Both of the Digi-Dragon youths dove for cover inside the tent.

Yazumon stumbled backward nervously as the firework lit, illuminating the dim inside of the shelter. "Um, I don't think you're supposed to do that inside, Diratimon," he gulped.

The other Digi-Dragon frowned in thought as the sparkler's fuse grew shorter and shorter. His eyes widened as he realized what the outcome of the situation might be. Both of the boys leapt for the door flap, a moment too late.

The firework shot up into the air with a screaming boom, taking the tent along with it! Blackened with soot and ash, but unharmed, Diratimon and Yazumon were thrown to the ground as a great Birdramon of flame erupted in the sky!

The crowds below screamed in shock at the unexpected assault, many throwing themselves to the ground to take cover. Cunomon's jaw dropped as the creature of fire swooped down low over the assembled people. He looked around for Sutaaryumon, but before he could spot him the fiery bird was already climbing back into the air. With another burst of sound the Birdramon exploded, becoming nothing more than another display of fireworks. The people's fear turned to awe and amazement.

"Wow!" breathed Yazumon and Diratimon from their spot in the blackened earth.

"Let's get another one!" Yazumon grinned.

But their excited faces vanished as iron hands clamped onto their shoulders. Looking up, they found the stormy face of Wizardmon glaring down at them. "Hello boys," the wizard rumbled.

Moments later Yazumon and Diratimon were doing dishes as Wizardmon watched, smirking.

The night wore on, and fun and enjoyment were had by all. As midnight rolled around, a quiet spread throughout the assembled. Heads craned to see what was going on.

Sutaaryumon had stepped onto the top of the podium where the band had been playing, long since finished by now. He had spent the night talking with his guests of every age, telling stories to both young and old, and now felt the end of the evening was drawing near. The old Digi-Dragon gazed out over the many friends and family he had been with over the years. The thought that he would probably never again see any of these people saddened him, but he had felt a pressure on him to leave the Shire growing over the years, and he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"My fellow Digi-Dragons!" Sutaa called out over the crowds, and any noise that might be left vanished. "As the hour grows late, I shall keep this short and to the point!" There were resounding cheers, causing Sutaa to raise a lavender eyebrow. "Though I am eleventy-one today, it is not hardly enough time to spend in such wonderful company as I have this night. Sadly, I must announce that this is the end. I am leaving now. Goodbye!" As the short speech progressed, Sutaa's hand slipped into his pocket in a longtime and habitual gesture. The Digi-Dragons were so engrossed in the old one's words—wondering what was coming next—that almost no one noticed the hand withdraw and move behind his back. And at the last word . . . Sutaaryumon suddenly disappeared!

The gathering broke into a babble of excitement and wonder. Cunomon could only stare, sitting straight up in his chair. Wizardmon, perhaps the only one who _had_ seen Sutaa's little trick, was silent.

* * *

A hearty chuckle was heard in the empty home of Sutaaryumon as the door seemed to open and close all on its own. Just as abruptly as at the party, Sutaa became visible. Still chortling, he opened his hand and gazed at the secret within.

It was a ring. A simple gold band, small enough to fit perfectly on his finger. He crossed through the hallway and into his living room, still eyeing his small treasure.

"I suppose you think that was terribly clever," a half-amused, half-annoyed voice spoke from the shadows.

Sutaa gave the dark form of Wizardmon a patronizing smile, trying to hide his slight surprise. The only light in the room came from the crackling fire in the hearth, and the shadows made the wizard look quite ominous. "It was just a bit of fun, Wizardmon," Sutaa scoffed, waving his hand. "They'll talk about my disappearing for years to come, and I can finally find someplace quiet to retire happily." He gazed about him a moment, taking in his old home for the last time, and then turned from the room.

"The ring is obviously magical, and such things shouldn't be trifled with," insisted Wizardmon, following the Digi-Dragon to his coat rack. He watched Sutaa put on a traveling cloak and pick up a trusty walking stick. "I don't think it would be safe for you to take with you."

"Well then you won't have to worry," snapped Sutaa, getting a little annoyed himself with the nosy wizard. "I'm leaving it here with the rest of my belongings at Mon End, and it all goes to Cunomon. I'm sure it'll be safe here in the Shire." He spoke on, not even pausing for breath. "And now I must be off before someone gets wise and comes looking for me. Have a good night and a good life, Wizardmon. Farewell." And he turned and reached for the doorknob.

"Sutaa!" Wizardmon's voice rang out sharply. The Digi-Dragon froze. Continuing in a softer voice, he pointed out, "The ring is back in your pocket."

Sutaa's hand drifted back into his pocket and pulled out the golden ring. "Why, so it is," he breathed, sounding almost confused. "How . . . very odd." Wizardmon waited for him to put down the object, but his small friend's voice floated into the dimness of the empty hall once more. "But after all, why can't I keep it? It's mine; I found it. It's mine. _My precious._" His last words came out strangled and high.

Wizardmon froze and was still for many moments. His green eyes bore into the back of the Digi-Dragon, who clutched the ring in his hands and was turning it over and over. "It has been called that before," the conjurer murmured, "but not by you. Sutaa, I think you should leave it."

"And I think you want the ring for yourself!" The oldster whirled on his old friend, pale yellow eyes flashing.

It was obvious he had gone too far. The shadows seemed to collect around the wizard. He almost appeared to grow taller in the low-roofed hall, and his eyes were flashes of emerald light in the darkness. "I am not trying to rob you, you stubborn old Digi-Dragon!" thundered Wizardmon, striking his staff upon the floor.

Sutaa was actually afraid of the man, and shrunk back against the wall with wide eyes. All in an instant the ire of the figure in the pointed hat was gone, and he was again his old friend Wizardmon. "I have been your friend for many years, Sutaa," sighed the old magic-user. "Please, trust me in this if nothing else."

After one dry swallow, and then another, Sutaa found his voice. "I-I don't know what came over me," he stuttered. "It suddenly felt . . . I didn't want to give it up. I-I couldn't. It's very odd." He stared into his hand as silent seconds ticked by in the hall, and then the Digi-Dragon slowly—slowly—tipped his hand. The ring flashed as it fell through the air, then struck the ground and lay there like a stone.

Sutaaryumon heaved a great sigh, feeling some strange weight lift from his shoulders. He tucked his cloak tighter around his thin shoulders and picked up his walking stick once more. The pain eased from his face and he managed a smile for his old friend. "Well then, it's done," he stated quietly. "And I am off. Goodbye, Wizardmon." He was out the door almost quicker than the eye could follow. Six steps down the path he stopped and turned back, seeing the man's silhouette in the doorway.

"You know, Wizardmon, I believe I just figured out an ending for the book I'm writing. 'And he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.' What do you think?"

"I think it's sure to come true," the wizard smiled.

Sutaa smiled back before continuing on his way, passing through the gate and out along the road. A cheerful traveling song flew on the wind to Wizardmon's ears as Sutaaryumon walked into the darkness and out of sight.

* * *

It wasn't much later that the door to the home at Mon End opened once again, and a slim shape topped with curly blond hair poked into the hall. "Sutaa?" Cunomon called softly. "Sutaa, are you in?"

He stepped into the home, but stopped short as his eye caught a glint from the floor. It was Sutaa's old ring! The one he never took from his pocket, and rarely even spoke about! He picked it up with something that was almost trepidation, and then almost dropped it again at the sudden voice.

"He has gone, Cunomon."

The young male followed the sound of the voice and found Wizardmon sitting in the dark, staring out the window and obviously deep in thought. Cunomon felt a little sorrow settle over him. Here he had been thinking—hoping, to be truthful—that it was just another of Sutaa's jokes.

"He really went, then?" he sighed.

"Yes. And he had left Mon End, and everything in it, to you, Cunomon." The young Digi-Dragon's eyes went wide. But all his emotions at that moment, his amazement and sorrow and wonder, were all banished in an instant by the tone of Wizardmon's voice. A tone that Cunomon had never heard from the powerful, old, wise man before.

The tone that said he was immensely worried.

"He talked about going for years," admitted Cunomon, sliding the ring into the empty envelope that Wizardmon held out to him without even thinking about it. His mind was more occupied with reasoning out the motive behind the wizard's concern. He watched without taking note as Wizardmon turned to the table and sealed the envelope with a bit of red wax, heated by a candle, and obediently took it when the old one held it out to him again. As Wizardmon bustled about with this, Cunomon continued attempting to explain, "I didn't think he'd actually go tonight, but I knew he'd go someday. Sutaa made friends in lots of lands. There are many safe havens he could have gone to."

"It's not Sutaa I'm worried about," Wizardmon commented absentmindedly, gathering up his staff from where it leaned against the wall.

"Oh." Cunomon was silent a moment as his mind turned this over. He followed behind as the wizard headed for the door. "If not that, then what?" he asked, when it seemed like the taller man would leave without offering explanation. As they passed the window the Digi-Dragon noted it was still dark of night, the blackness that came before dawn. "And are you leaving _now?_"

"There are things I must tend to," the wizard muttered. Before reaching for the knob he spun round and pierced Cunomon with a deep look. "Listen to me now, young Cunomon. There is something odd happening here in the home at Mon End in your little Shire, and I have a feeling it is important for me to discover exactly what. I'll return when I can, and until then you must take special care of the ring in your hand. Do you understand, Cunomon? Keep it _secret_, and keep it _safe_."

The youth blinked down at the paper envelope in his hand, as if just now realizing it was there. "But Wizardmon—" He was cut off as he looked up again, yellow eyes round with confusion.

The wizard was gone.

* * *

Wizardmon rode hard on the last leg of his journey, having just traded his exhausted horse for a fresh one at the last town. Even a man with the power of magic at his call could only travel so far, so fast, and Wizardmon felt that time was wearing thin. Every second he spent without answers to his questions was a second too long.

Finally his objective came into view as he topped a last rise in the ground. Long cape billowing out behind him, the old man clutched his pointed hat to his head as he urged his steed on to even greater speeds, then yanked the poor beast short as neared the doorway of the building. Without delay he slid down from the panting animal and knocked, composing himself just in time to give a gracious nod to the Leomon who answered, and was admitted instantly.

He was shown to a tiny, dark room without windows, lit only by a few smoky candles, and left alone when he asked. Allowing his urgent need to now show on his face, Wizardmon shifted through the piles of papers stacked on the desk until the flowing script he was looking for caught his eye.

The old wizard pushed back his hat, revealing graying hair that was once sandy blond, as he leaned closer to the candle's light. His sharp green eyes passed back and forth as he scrolled down the parchment, and then the one under it, and then a third. There he stopped, and breathed aloud, "Let fire reveal. . . ." The words on the page were almost glowing in the darkness of the room, burning into his heart—

Wizardmon inhaled sharply and sank into the desk's chair. Just a moment's pause, to catch his breath and let the discovery sink in. . . .

No, there was no time for that. As quickly as he was down, he was up again, staff firmly in hand as he fled the room and leaving behind an empty desk scattered with old, old papers.

* * *

Cunomon yawned and stretched lazily, thinking he ought to get heading to bed but content for the moment to drowse and watch the hearth's fire crackle merrily. As they always had, the peaceful surroundings of his home in Mon End covered him with comfort. Like a thick quilt, he could feel himself wrapped up in the goodness of the place that once belonged to his mentor and close friend.

A loud bang startled the young Digi-Dragon, and he leapt to his feet as the fire spit and sputtered. A cold wind circled the room, and as he gazed over his shoulder he found the window had blown open unexpectedly. Small papers and other light objects twirled in the breeze.

At first Cunomon took a step toward the window, planning on closing it once again, but he was suddenly struck by how dark and far away that corner of the room looked. As if it would be much safer to stay by the fireside. As if there were danger out there—

Another loud bang and he almost tripped backward into the fireplace in his fright. But this sound was repeated, and he realized someone was knocking on the door. At this hour? It sounded terribly urgent.

Already feeling better at the thought of company, Cunomon hurried to the hall to answer the door. And as it flew open, yanked free of his hand by the strong wind, he was completely floored by the haggard silhouette standing there.

"Wizardmon!" he gasped, holding out a hand to assist the obviously weary traveler.

His hand was pushed aside, along with the rest of him, as the man strode into the Digi-Dragon's home (ducking his head of course, as always). Wizardmon turned to him, a strange fire burning in his eyes. "The ring!" the wizard demanded breathlessly.

His actions were beginning to frighten Cunomon, who wondered where the wizard had gone to, leaving so suddenly and then appearing again three weeks later with no warning at all. However, he could feel the urgency behind the old magic-user's frantic haste (Wizardmon? Frantic?), and took off at a trot for the living room.

He felt the wizard's eyes boring into his back as he dropped to his knees in front of a thick wooden chest, shoving up the lid and digging into the contents within. It wasn't long at all before his hand closed over the small envelope of paper.

Without a word Wizardmon grabbed the pouch from the young Digi-Dragon, crossing the room and tossing it into the fire!

"Hey! What are you doing?" Cunomon scrambled for the tongs beside the fireplace, but Wizardmon grabbed his wrist. Mutely they watched as the flames licked along the edges of the paper, curling them into black ash. Amid the dark cinders, like a diamond in a pile of gravel, gleamed the bright gold band.

Now Wizardmon took up the fire tongs himself, retrieving the ring and holding it out to Cunomon. At the boy's wide-eyed stare he chuckled, again becoming the harmless old wizard friend. "It's quite cool," he promised Cunomon.

Still, the Digi-Dragon was ready to drop it the moment the metal object touched his hand, should it prove painful. But Wizardmon was quite right. It was as if the ring had not been sitting in the flames a moment before! Cunomon looked up questionably.

The wizard had turned away from the fireplace, was now gazing contemplatively into the dim shadows at the other end of the room. "Do you see anything upon the ring?" he asked, as if he saw Cunomon's searching look.

"Wha—n-no, of course not," he stuttered, glancing down at the golden hoop. "There's never been any writing. It's just a plain band. . . ." A sharp intake of breath caused Wizardmon to jerk his head toward the youth. If possible, Cunomon's eyes were even wider than before. "There is!" he hissed. "Oh, Wizardmon! There is! It's so strange . . . flowing script, on both the inside and the out, bright red like flame. I-I can't read what it says."

Sounding very far away, and very, very weary, Wizardmon spoke. His voice was faint as dying embers. "The script is that of the Digi-Foxes, Cunomon. And the language is one that I will not utter here. But this is what it says." The old man began a soft and haunting chant:

"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

Cunomon shivered, fingers instinctively curling around the ring as he fisted his hands. "I don't understand," he almost whimpered. "Where have you been, Wizardmon? What's all this about Sutaa's ring?"

"That ring never belonged to Sutaaryumon," murmured the old wizard. His head seemed to hang, and while it could have been weariness, Cunomon suddenly had the feeling that it was in defeat. "That is the One Ring, the ring forged to bind all this world and rule it in darkness."

"What?"

He wasn't answered right away. Wizardmon found a chair and pulled it closer to the fire, easing his body down with an ominous creaking of bones. After a long, silent moment sent staring into the flames his voice drifted into the darkened room. "I'm going to tell you a story, Cunomon. A true, but very old, story. One that takes place three thousand years ago."

Cunomon never really paid attention when others spoke of history, but he realized that this was important. Besides, in some shape or form, it involved him! He had the ring now, after all. Best to listen. (Not to mention that Wizardmon had a habit of bopping people on the head with his staff when they weren't paying proper attention.)

"In those times, over three centuries ago, great Rings of power were created to assist in the ruling of the different peoples of this world. You Digi-Dragons are of a simple kind with no need of such things, but the other peoples have spread far and wide over all the lands, and needed guidance. Three of the Rings went to the Digi-Foxes, the fair and wise immortals in tune with nature. Seven went to the Digi-Saurs, living under the ground and masters of all metalworking. Nine went to kings of the Digi-Men, the shortest lived and easiest swayed.

"And one . . . the One Ring was created by a very evil man, in the flames of Mount Miharashi. Apocalymon was the name of this man. In the creation of this Ring he poured all his cruelty, all his darkness, all his corruption. He wanted one Ring to unite them all under him, to bind them all. You see, he wanted power over everyone. He wanted to rule everything.

"His conquests spread with the power of the One Ring at his command, and he held the lands in his possession with an iron grasp. His armies of Goblimon were large and fierce, and again and again the armies of the free fell under them and the Ring. A great darkness covered the world.

"But there were still those willing to fight. The last the free men combined to form a great army and together they stormed Mon-dor, the heart of the enemy's land. Apocalymon faced them there with his Goblimon soldiers, and his Ring on his hand. The armies clashed; the battle was long and arduous. Alas, the free men were no match for the power of the Ring. As a last strike against the darkness, Imperialdramon—leader of the Digi-Men—dove at the evil tyrant. But his sword shattered on Apocalymon's armor, and in one blow Imperialdramon was slain.

"WarGreymon, son of Imperialdramon, was also on the field and saw his father fall. He ran to the side of the downed warrior, cradling his face in his blood-covered hands. And as he wept, he felt the cold shadow of the enemy fall over him.

"And WarGreymon took up his father's broken blade and whirled at his enemy, the fragment of sword arching in the air. It sliced off the fingers of Apocalymon, and the Ring tumbled to the ground. It had granted the Dark Lord an extended life; without it his body crumbled to dust there on the field, and without their leader the army of evil fell."

Wizardmon was silent, secretly surprised to have spoken for so long without interruption from the talkative little Digi-Dragon. Cunomon would have been surprised as well, had he been conscious of it. But his mind was far away. Maybe the old wizard had more magic in his storytelling than in his staff, for he had painted a picture so clearly that Cunomon could see it in his mind. The tall, willowy Digi-Foxes living in their forest cities; the squat Digi-Saurs with grubby skin and long beards; the kings of the Digi-Men wearing crowns of gold and silver. . . .

Tiny shivers of horror wracked the diminutive being as the scene of battle unfolded behind his eyes. He saw Apocalymon, a tall man covered almost completely with black armor. What little skin that could be seen was pale gray, and his shoulder-length hair was white as snow. Baleful yellow eyes without souls gleamed from the slit in the front of that helm. A single gold ring dominated the gauntlet of his right hand, fingernails painted blood red on both.

With the hoards of Goblimon—burly creatures with putrid green skin—around him, the dark man seemed even more impervious to defeat. And there against him stood the alliance of Digi-Men and -Elves, Imperialdramon in the lead. His silver and gold armor blackened by battle and worse as he fell, and a younger man in similar armor dropped to his knees beside him. He ripped off his helmet, revealing a dirt-streaked face of orange skin with a tumble of red hair and grief-stricken green eyes.

Cunomon could see it as WarGreymon wailed in fury, turning on Apocalymon with the shard of his father's sword. The gold ring struck the ground as the Dark Lord screamed his pain and fury at being defeated. And then crumbling to black dust in the harsh wind of the battlefield. . . .

"What happened to the ring?" asked Cunomon in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Not what should have happened," sighed the wizard. "Such evil cannot be conquered; the ring should have been destroyed. Sadly, men's hearts can be swayed. WarGreymon kept the One Ring for his own, and its evilness betrayed him. On the banks of the river Anduin he was ambushed and killed, his body thrown into the mighty waters. The ring sank to the bottom, and there it lay for two thousand five hundred years, lost and forgotten. The evil of Apocalymon was all but forgotten, and never again has a darkness swept across the entire land as his had.

"And then, as what happens when things are not properly taken care of, the ring was found once again. By a being you have been told about, no less. Divermon."

Cunomon jumped upright. "Divermon?" he cried in shock, not expecting this sudden turn in the story. "The one Sutaa got the ring from—"

"Exactly. Divermon was captured by the ring's need to be known again, and its malice warped and twisted him over the five hundred years he clasped it to him. He became the skulking creature Sutaaryumon met sixty years ago. Hiding away in the watery caves under Birdramon's mountain, where I sent Sutaa with the party of Digi-Saurs to recover the treasure the evil fire bird stole, Sutaa beat him in a riddle contest and took the ring to escape."

Cunomon nodded, having heard this story from Sutaa himself many times. "And the Birdramon was slain and the Digi-Saurs got their treasure back, and then Sutaa came home with the ring . . . which he left to me." His eyes fell once again upon the small hoop of gold in his hand.

"Even in the hands of such an innocent people as your own, Cunomon, the ring will corrupt. It was best Sutaa get it out of his sight. However, that is not my concern at this time. Here in your Shire news of the rest of the word only trickles in, rarely and with sparse details. Cunomon, the world today is drifting into shadow. An evil force is gathering strength in the east, preparing to spread." He caught the Digi-Dragon's eyes with his own and held them with such a force Cunomon could not look away. "Apocalymon is returning," Wizardmon rumbled.

The younger of the two actually dropped the ring as he jumped, then went lunging after it as it rolled along the floor. "You said he was dead! You said he was turned to dust three thousand years ago!" Cunomon squeaked, his voice unnaturally high with fear.

"I said he was defeated once he was parted from the ring, his power cut from him. But his evil is too strong to kill. All this time he has been rebuilding his strength, recapturing his power. And now he needs but one thing to restore himself to his former might." His eyes drifted down to Cunomon's clenched fist.

Cunomon yelped and dropped the ring a second time. The greatest evil in the world was looking for the ring, which meant it was looking for _him!_ Not a comforting thought.

In a deeply apologetic voice, Wizardmon continued. "When I left you three weeks ago, my concern for the ring brought me to WarGreymon's ancestral homeland. There I read the records of those ancient times, written by WarGreymon himself, that told of the ring and its secret revelation by flame. I hurried back as soon as I was able. But. . . ." Wizardmon appeared uneasy, now unable to look the little Digi-Dragon in the face. Cunomon had never known Wizardmon to be at a loss for words. Finally the old one coughed and forced the words from a reluctant throat. "I spared a moment to gather the latest news from a few of my sources. It pains me to say, boy, that Divermon is gone from Birdramon's mountain. He was captured by the enemy, brought to Mon-dor. . . . I'm afraid any knowledge he had was forced from him long before now." The wizard bowed his head in shame.

If Cunomon was afraid before, he was now terrified beyond reason. "They'll come here!" he cried in horror, ears filling with imagined screams and sounds of destruction. "They'll come to the Shire! Wizardmon, _take the ring!_" Desperately he tried to force it into the old man's hand.

"Don't offer me that object!" thundered Wizardmon, drawing up and away until he seemed to glare down at Cunomon from a great height. "In my hands that ring would doom us all. I would try to use it for great good, I would not be able to help myself. And the ring would end up using me."

"What can I do then?" begged Cunomon, feeling as if he were drowning. It was cruel of Wizardmon to suddenly burst into his home and dump this whole three-thousand-year-old tale upon him! It was too much for one little Digi-Dragon to handle. "It can't stay in the Shire!"

"You're right." Wizardmon's voice was soft and weary. "You're right, Cunomon. The ring will have to leave."

Cunomon's shoulders slumped. "You mean _I_ will have to leave," he sighed heavily, and with not a little dread.

"Yes, I'm afraid—" A sound from the window silenced both of them. Cunomon's first instinct was to run, but Wizardmon leaped away from the fireplace and hurried to the window, and Cunomon followed. The tall man leaned out the window and grabbed a small, struggling figure, yanking it into the home and pinning it to the table all in one fluid motion.

Cunomon was surprised at the oldster's energy, but was more shocked as he recognized the fearful features of their spy in the firelight. "Veemon!" he gasped.

The Digi-Dragon gardener writhed in Wizardmon's angry grip. "What were you doing, you eavesdropper?" growled the old wizard.

"I-I wasn't dropping no eaves, I swear! I was j-just . . . er, trimming the hedge—"

"In the middle of the night?!" When angered the wizard truly was a frightening person to behold. "What did you hear?"

"I-I didn't hear nothing!" Veemon insisted, quaking. Under the blazing green-eyed gaze he whimpered. "W-well, maybe just a little about rings and evil and the end of the world, but nothing important! Oh, please Wizardmon, sir! Don't turn me into anything unnatural!"

Cunomon tried not to laugh.

After a long, silent glare, Wizardmon's hands released the collar of the Digi-Dragon's shirt and stood back. "Oh, I have a much better plans for you, Veemon," the wizard muttered with a dark gleam in his eyes.

Veemon gulped.

* * *

The next morning found the tall wizard leading his horse through the trees of the Shire, with two shorter blue figures trotting after him as they tried to keep up with the heavy packs on their backs.

Topping a rise that laid the open road below them, Wizardmon stopped and mounted his horse. "Make for the inn of The Prancing Ponymon, in Bree," he told them. "I will meet you there after I speak with the head of my order, who will know what to do with the ring if no one else in this world does. Until then, travel as secretly as you can. Stay off the roads. And Cunomon, do not put on the ring! Our enemies will be able to sense it. Do you understand?" Two somewhat bewildered young faces nodded up at him, and he couldn't help but sigh. This should not have been their quest. They were innocents.

However, what was done could not be retracted. And the sooner he completed his task the sooner he could right that, so with a brief wave he spurred his horse into a swift gallop and left the two Digi-Dragons to make their way out of the Shire and to the eastern town of Bree.


End file.
